Jacob Character Pieces
by rainypromise
Summary: These are Jacob character pieces that I did. Mostly drabbles and stand alones.
1. When he was something more

When He Was Something More

**A Twilight Fanfiction**

Music: King of the Earth by John Ondrasnik

Jacob is no prince, much less a king.

Well, true, he _can_ be alpha if he wants to, which is—as he suppose—some sort of kingship, and he is also Billy Black's son, the—sort of—tribal leader but status and bloodlines never matters for Jacob.

But it does to others.

Sam, for example, makes a note to always ask for his opinion in pack matters, deferring to him on tribal ones. It embarrasses Jacob greatly when he gets singled out like that

The werewolf thing aside, he figures he is nothing special.

He has talent for numbers, a natural ability to handle engines and machines but then again, a lot of people are able to do that.

People like him and he likes to be friendly and helpful but he is no tribal leader, no alpha wolf. So he's second in command, but that is still a long way up to alpha, although Sam never forgets to remind him that he is always willing to step down, somehow—strangely—Sam thinks he is ready for alpha...hood.

He isn't.

As far as Jacob is concern, there is no vacancy in the alpha spot.

Again, bloodlines don't mean squat to him, what _does_ matter is integrity, strength of heart, honor, compassion, loyalty and a willingness to sacrifice one self and make hard choices.

Sam—although, Leah would have disagreed—has all that and more.

It just isn't him and he prefers it that way.

But, there was a time, a time where he felt like something..._more_.

A time where he felt he could take out all of the vampires in Volterra single-handedly, a time where he thought he could do anything he put his mind to.

A time where he—perhaps foolishly—thought that he could bring the dead back to life...and do some miracle healing while he was at it.

A time where he was the only one that could make her smile.

Bella—_Bells_—Swan

She made him feel like he could conquer the world and beyond, and for a space of time, he did.

But then reality—as it always does—kicked in and reminded him that he was no prince, and certainly no king.

If he had to choose an occupation somewhere along that line, he would probably be...a soldier, one who can mingle with royalty and blue bloods, rub shoulders in the battlefield; their blood spilling to the same ground as swords clash and battle screams fill his ears but after the war is over, they will come home to their princesses and queens while the soldiers are left in the battlefields to tend their own wounds.

And her books talks of knights, of kings, of princes..._not_ soldiers. And that is all that he ever—willingly—hoped to be.

But—when the moon is full and tints the tips of trees with silver—he remembers, that once upon a time, he was…more.


	2. Tribute to a sigh

**Tribute to a Sigh**

**A tribute to a quote from Bluesuzanne's Lead Me to Your Arms chapter 15; "He sighs and it goes on forever". **

He lies on the bed, weary with life and age, thinking of the loves ones that had left him behind. Their faces dance behind his eyelids as he remembers the long course of his life, and he ponders over his choices and the results they had given him. He props up his head, shifts to find a comfortable position—something that is almost a myth in old age—and closes his eyes.

_He sighs and it goes on forever._

It laces the wind that blows out of the window, flinging itself rebelliously across the open fields that shine with snow and ice like a child, twining with the finger-like branches of naked trees like delicate blossoms.

It presses upon the crashing waves that lashes angrily, bitterly against the cliffs, erodes the silent, watchful stones and whistles inside the hollow bleached driftwoods in a song of ancient times.

It whispers, shifts between the threads of sunlight, to drop with the rain and reach toward the sky and mingle with clouds, both moody and kind.

It goes and goes and _goes_…

Nearby, as if in answer, a wail rises; slow and high and thin.

It trembles the air, even the sun seem to shiver.

It rises and rises in an endless loop of agony and despair.

It fills the air with a throbbing sense of grief, of sadness; the kind that hallows out the body, leaving it barren and cold.

The La Push inhabitants can feel all the hair on their body rise, their throats close and their eyes sting at the sound that holds the sound of tears and overwhelming ache like cupped palms.

Unashamed, unrestrained, unparallel in its cry of anguish.

It continues as if there is no end in sight well into the night.

It rises alarmingly without pause, without falter as if the body it comes from doesn't need breath, rest or nourishment, as if pain itself is what gives the body its strength. Then out of nowhere when the moon, a fat shining orb, climbs stealthily across the solemn sky, howls; morose and somber shiver in the night, entangle with the desolate wail in the misty dark air and on they continue until dawn spills sunlight across the awakening sky.

Morning finds people out of their beds, wondering about the sudden peculiar silence.

Morning finds Jacob Black, lying in his bed; his breath as still, as silent, as the morning air.


	3. Liquid Silence

**LIQUID SILENCE**

**A Twilight Fanfiction**

Jacob watched the thread of sunlight that throbbed and pulsed in the water, the way it shifted and danced in the depths in a delicate and intriguing light show and pondered about the necessity of coming up for air.

But the _silence_, the vacuum silence and stillness was far too tempting.

Comforting.

Seducing.

He watched the waves crashed above his head, bending lights and shadows but inside the water--unlike his life, unlike his thoughts, unlike himself—it was calm.

He watched the tendrils of his black hair, wisping around his peripheral vision, like fingers moving in tune with some sort of untitled symphony.

He closed his eyes against the soothing lull of water, welcoming the whisper of silence that he was craving for.

Jacob had learned the virtue of silence, the value of privacy.

He embraced the sense of isolation, the disturbing feel of being suspended in motion, even the niggling claustrophobia as the water smothered his senses.

He opened his eyes and realized that he had somehow drifted closer to the surface.

The setting sun touched the reflective surface of the water, tinting it with the palest hint of red.

The color of water touched by blood.

He watched the bubbles of his breath climbed up the water, burst to the surface and wondered whether to follow it or stay behind and realized that his body was already hovering upwards, pressed and lifted by the undercurrents, pushing him slowly to the surface.

He tried not to dwell on the bitterness that smeared his throat at the irony, the implication that brought him to his earlier thoughts.

He didn't fight the slow, building pressure...both inside and outside of himself but nevertheless contained it ruthlessly.

Jacob broke the tumultuous surface and instantly the wind whipped and slapped across his face, his chest and throat burned while he took in large gulps of breath as goosebumps ran up and down his skin.

He blinked the water out of his eyes, pushed his hair from his face while he steadied his breathing.

The wind was a roaring force across the smoldering sky, splattered with a dozen hues of orange, red and pink.

The piercing calls of sea birds assaulted his ears.

Then, out of nowhere, there was a whisper in the wind that had Jacob tensing where he stood.

He looked sideways, toward the beach, his sharp eyes focusing on the two boys that stood tall and solid like the sentries they were. His brothers, the word was more than sentiment, more than even the literal meaning of the word itself. The bond was more than what they have become to each other, it ran deeper, farther then who they are, delving deep into the history of their tribes.

There was a time when Jacob resented it.

The lack of choice, the inevitably of it.

"What is it?" He whispered back, letting the wind carry his voice back to his brothers. Trusting their sharpen senses.

"She's gone with the vampire." Embry's voice was careful and worried, the two prominent emotions hovered in the wind that sighed against Jacob's skin.

A wave crashed against the rocks behind him.

"She's been gone three days." Embry continued.

"The council is converging. They call on you." Quil's deeper, harsher voice joined Embry's, still tangling with the rush of wind that took little bites along Jacob's wet skin.

Jacob closed his eyes tightly, fighting the red burning anger that pushed forcefully up his spine, threading in his thoughts, consuming them, tearing them apart.

He stood in the water with the ocean waves slapping against his skin as the horizon burned behind him.

He pushed at the anger, pushed through the pain that sliced his heart and opened his eyes, with a low, low sigh, he plunged into the livid water, swimming to the beach with strong, smooth strokes.

Like the ocean, life also has a knack for ignoring what he wanted.


End file.
